𝗧𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗬𝗢𝗨 ── 𝘚.𝘚𝘛𝘐𝘓𝘐𝘕𝘚𝘒𝘐

♡ 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗘𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗘𝗘𝗡 ♡

♡ 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ♡
𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 eighteen

loca!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

THE NEXT MORNING, Dallas had finally let her grudge against Lydia go. Especially since she had bigger things on her mind at the moment. "I'm thinking of hosting a big sleepover this weekend." Lydia hummed, cocking her head to the side. 

"What so we can watch The Notebook for the hundredth time?" Danny snickered, earning a playful look from the strawberry blonde. Their voices became distant noises as Dallie sat in her own world. Her russet stare was blank as she slouched in her chair. Her golden necklace rose and fell with her chest while her hair was pulled up from her face, a few strands falling in front of her face. 

"Are you coming?" The Martin girl nudged to her best friend, who remained silent and didn't seem to pay attention to her. "Dallie." Her sharp tone caused the girl to shake her head and turn to her. 

"Oh, uh, sure. Whatever." 

Lydia and Danny shared a knowing look as the strawberry blonde leaned forward. "What's going on with you today?" 

Dallas sent them both a bored look and shrugged. "What?"

"You didn't show up for cheer." Danny deadpanned. "You always show up for cheer."

The Latina shrugged and stared down at her food tray. "Well, today I didn't."

"You're coming to my sleepover, right?" Lydia mumbled. She had tried to be more supportive of her best friend, to make more time for her. Yet, the closer she tried to get to Dallas nowadays the further away she'd seem. 

The Garcia plastered a grin across her face. "Of course I am. You know that I wouldn't miss it for the world." 

Without another word, she stood up from their table and pushed past the incoming students. As the bell rang for next period, the brunette didn't seem to run to her next class. Instead, she headed for the exit doors of the school. Education was the very last thing on her mind as the doors blasted open before her. 

She needed somewhere to clear her head. Someplace that was her serenity. Anywhere other than there - and she knew exactly where.

The Beacon Hills Ice Rink didn't have many visitors. Especially lone ones. Which was why it was so peculiar to see the face of Dallas Garcia in there. Her chest felt heavy and her mouth was dry. She hadn't been there in years. Not since her mother disappeared. Dallas remembered how often she would visit with her mother, who taught her an array of tricks. The ice was her safeplace.  She remembered how she grew to close to another little boy, who would help his father clean up the rink after hours. He'd watch her skate from his zamboni and share ice-cones with her. She had gotten so good  at it that her mother would rant on about how she'd win medals and ribbons of all kinds.